“I go to Society events,” Wexford said with a measure of exasperation. “I am certain I danced with her once or twice last Season. If I remember correctly, she is rather intelligent. Didn’t mutter a thing about any of the Fs.”
Fashion, food, and flowers. Most young women stuck to those three topics. And occasionally the weather.
“How refreshing,” Tobias murmured. “Thank you for the worthwhile suggestion, Wexford.” He turned his gaze to Lucien. “Who do you recommend?”
Lucien rubbed his fingers along his jaw. “Lady Alford has just joined the club. She’s a widow.”
“Doesn’t she have several children?” Tobias asked.
“Yes, but you didn’t specify that your potential bride not have children.”
“No, I did not, and I suppose it isn’t an obstacle.”
“It also shows she can have children.” Wexford inclined his head. “Since providing an heir is likely important to you.”
Tobias rested his elbow on the table and pressed his forehead into his palm. “I hate this. My father has ensured I approach this like a shopping excursion in which I search for the best product with an excess of haste.” The loathing he felt for his father heated anew.
“You want to fall in love,” Lucien said softly. “Again.”
Dropping his hand to the table, Tobias raised his head and glared at him. “I wasn’t in love.”
Lucien shrugged. “You said you were.”
“I was wrong. Kind of you to remind me of that.”
“My apologies,” Lucien said, bowing his head briefly. “I thought you had moved past Lady Bentley.”
Of course, he’d moved past Priscilla. After he changed his mind about eloping, she’d gone and told everyone that he’d tried to kidnap her. No one quite believed the kidnapping part, but when she’d insisted he’d tried to convince her to elope, they’d eaten that up like marzipan at Christmas. Overnight, he’d become a rogue, a scoundrel, an utter reprobate. And since they seemed to delight in casting him in such a role, he’d decided not to disabuse them of their assumptions. He’d immersed himself in dissolution and depravity.
“Lady Bentley is an unfortunate memory. My attention is on the present and future, specifically the next few weeks. Indeed, I will need to formalize a betrothal in less than a bloody fortnight if I’m to schedule a wedding within the necessary timeframe.” Tobias tipped his head back and groaned. “This is impossible.”
“Bloody reading of the banns takes forever,” MacNair muttered.
“You could try for a special license,” Lucien suggested.
Tobias lowered his head. “I don’t want to rely on that, but it’s good to know the possibility exists. This is so damned frustrating.” He finished the rest of his brandy and refilled his glass.
MacNair leaned forward and grinned. “You could also dash off to Gretna Green. I’ve cousins near there who’d celebrate with you.”
“I shall hope the special license will work rather than risk a long journey while it’s still winter. But I do thank you for the kind offer of your family’s hospitality.” Tobias gave him a silent toast before sipping his whisky. Setting his glass down with a muffled clack atop the tablecloth, he said, “All right, I’ll start with Miss Goodfellow. Please let me know if you think of or meet someone else. I can’t afford to pin all my hopes on one woman.” Not to mention, he may find Miss Goodfellow completely intolerable. Or perhaps she’d find him intolerable. In any case, he really needed to meet someone with whom he would suit.
And yes, he supposed he did want to fall in love. Or at least develop some sort of affection for the woman who would be his wife. He didn’t want a cordial but dispassionate union like that of his parents. They’d both been happier when the other was someplace else. That was why he’d spent so much time with his mother—just the two of them—at the house she’d inherited from her grandmother.
Lucien cupped his hands around his glass on the table and leaned forward, his dark gaze on Tobias. “This is a wonderful plan but, forgive me for asking, are you certain you’ll receive the invitations you need to accomplish this feat?”
Since he’d reinvented himself as a rogue, his invitations were not always of the best caliber. He hadn’t cared. In fact, he’d reveled in his ignominy, particularly because it had irritated his father, who’d tried to press him into an unwanted marriage after he’d been jilted by Priscilla.
But now his reputation mattered. He could practically hear his father chortling from beyond. Indeed, he’d probably anticipated this problem when he’d changed his will. Which meant he expected Tobias to fail and thus to lose his beloved mother’s house. And this was after he’d swindled the property from his father-in-law, demanding it as Tobias’s mother’s dowry. Tobias believed his mother’s bitterness toward her husband stemmed from losing the estate to him in the marriage contract. She’d often lamented that she wasn’t able to leave it to Tobias.
Yes, his father was almost certainly laughing.
Tobias curled his lip. “I’ve been on my best behavior since my father died. No gaming hells, no phaeton racing, and I gave up my mistress.”
“Have you?” Lucien asked. “I heard you were seen running from her lodgings just this afternoon.”
Glaring at Lucien, Tobias demanded, “Do you know everything?”
Wexford snickered. “Yes, he does.”
Lucien sat back in his chair. “Lady Pickering should be able to assist you, but you’ll have to do your part. The slightest misstep, such as continuing to see your mistress, and you’ll ruin your chances.”
“As well as that of your ward,” MacNair said rather unnecessarily.
It was too much. His father hadn’t even told him about Miss Wingate until he lay dying. He’d been the young woman’s guardian for two years and hadn’t said a word. Tobias wondered if he’d ever known the man at all.
“While you’re considering potential wives for me, I will also take suggestions on how to mend my reputation.”
“Align yourself with Lucien’s brother.” Wexford’s brows darted up as he exchanged a look with MacNair, who chuckled.
“Brilliant idea,” the Scotsman said.
Lucien groaned. “God,
